Free The Uncomplaining Corpses by Brett Halliday

down sobbing.
    “What are you grinning about?” Phyllis panted. “Why, you—she might have killed you.”
    “Not while I have such an able protector.” He held out his hand. “Better give me that toy before it does some damage.”
    Reluctantly, Phyllis dropped the .25 into his palm. Then she got up and bent over Dora, patting her shaking shoulders and comforting her with low words.
    Shayne went to a desk in the corner and dropped the pistol into a drawer. He went back and kissed Phyllis’s hair and muttered, “You’re pretty swell doings, angel. I’ll leave you two gals to fight it out.”
    Tears were rolling down Phyllis’s own cheeks when he went out and left them together.

Chapter Eight: THE GHOST OF MURDER PAST
     
    A HORSE-FACED BUTLER WITH SOLEMN EYES opened the Thrip door for Shayne. Before the detective could speak he murmured, “I beg your pardon, sir, but you are not perhaps aware there has been an—ah—tragedy here and I don’t believe—”
    “I’m fully aware of it,” Shayne assured him pleasantly, pressing forward.
    The butler gave way reluctantly, protesting, “Mr. Thrip is indisposed and has given strict orders that no one is to be admitted.”
    “He’ll see me. But first I want to ask you a couple of questions about the man who was killed in your mistress’s room last night. Did you admit him at five when he first came?”
    “Yes, sir.” The butler’s long nose quivered and his watery eyes turned a paler blue. “I’ll never forgive myself for not sending him about his business as I was tempted to do. I judged him to be a low criminal type but I knew Mr. Thrip was expecting a detective and I guessed immediately that the man belonged in that category. But my first impression proved correct, sir, and I shouldn’t have allowed—”
    “Exactly what did he say when he asked for Mr. Thrip ?” Shayne broke in impatiently.
    “He said he had an appointment—that a man named Shayne had sent him. As I have already reported to the police—”
    “All right.” Shayne cut him off. “So you took him to Thrip . What then?”
    “I have no idea, sir. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean nor why these questions should be directed at me.” The man folded his arms with solemn dignity.
    “I’m trying to find out who killed Mrs. Thrip ,” Shayne said bluntly. “If you’re interested in helping, you’ll answer my questions truthfully.”
    The butler’s jaw sagged. Anger turned his gaunt cheeks a rosy hue. “I don’t know who you are nor what right you have to question me.”
    “I’m Shayne,” the detective growled. “And don’t start accusing me of murder or I’ll slough you one. I’m tired of getting the run-around.”
    The butler pulled the door open and pointed outside. “If I may suggest—”
    “You may, and to hell with you.” Shayne set himself solidly with his jaw jutting. “You’ll either give me information or I’ll beat it out of you.”
    “Y-yes, sir.” The butler gulped. His Adam’s apple slid up and down rapidly.
    “Where did Thrip talk to Darnell—in which room?”
    “In the library, sir.”
    “Alone?”
    “Y-yes, sir.”
    “And it was the library window that was found open later in the night?”
    “Y-yes, sir.”
    Shayne said, “H-m-m.”
    “If I may say so, it is my theory that the criminal unlatched the window while he waited in there for Mr. Thrip to come down. I suggested that possibility to the police and they concurred heartily.”
    “You’re a big help,” Shayne muttered, “All right, let’s get on from there. Did they go out of the library after their conference? Together, I mean.”
    “If my memory serves me right, Mr. Thrip showed the fellow over the upstairs, probably in the belief that the man could fulfill his duties more efficiently if he was acquainted—”
    “Leave your conjectures out of it,” Shayne snapped. “Was Mrs. Thrip at home when the man was here?”
    “No, sir. She arrived some time later. She inquired